14s Enough...

Ok, let the claws come out and the meows begin because its catty time! I have a little something to say, and I am feeling a bit ranty anyway, so I am taking it out on a poor woman that I don't even know. On the flip side, she probably ain't going to read this anyway so let's start the fur flying.

What in God's name is some woman doing having eight babies on top of the six kids she already has? Really, lady? I mean... really. Maybe everyone else already knew this, but I am a little slow on the news uptake as I have three kids and that keeps me from all things "adult" (and Mark will second the all things part). Does this woman not have the hectic life that I do? Because the idea of adding one more child (let alone eight) is about as appealing as digging my eyeballs out with a spoon. I thought this was some couple desperate for a family who was seeking fertility treatments because they'd been trying for children for years and blah blah blah, but no!!! This woman lives with mommy and daddy and has six kids already. I am all for fielding your own family football team if that is your choice, but you gotta be able to raise them. That is my one caveat on the childbirth limit and I hold the world and myself to the same standard. (That is why this baby factory is closed). If you can't financially, physically or emotionally raise those kids on your own, then you shouldn't have more children. Full stop (as the Brits say). This woman lives with her parents to raise the six she's got. Can they all handle 14? What is she going to do if her parents die? God forbid, she may inherit some funds but who is going to change those eight diapers while she chases her twin toddlers while the other four need a ride to school?

I don't blame this woman for not wanting to abort some of the implanted eggs that developed into fetuses. This is not a blog about picking some lives over others. I think if I were told that I had eight babies living in me, I would keep all eight as well. I feel that the reproductive team that allowed this to happen is at fault. Those babies face a much higher chance of developmental problems because there were eight of them. Not to mention, a little bit of common sense for the future kiddos. (I threw in kiddos in honor of the fab four... they know why). I get that the doctors said they don't have the right to say how big a family should be, but what about those eight kids and their right to be raised... not herded? I understand the challenges of reproductive issues (ok, I got pregnant on birth control, so I don't really... but I know people who have gone through it) and I know that the higher number of eggs implanted means the greater chance of one working, but this woman already had six kids. And not at one time, so she had six kids from five viable pregnancies. This is not someone who is struggling in fertility land. So, why would that reproductive team feel the need to implant eight? Why not go with two or three? Granted, I don't know the situation, and I am in a angsty mood today anyway, but come on?? I have three kids and some days (hello, all days) that feels like three too many. I question how 14 are going to get the love, attention and adoration in a one on one capacity that they deserve. I told you I was going to be catty... call me Fluffy for the rest of the post.

Hey, if she can do it... I guess she can write her own blog and prove me wrong, but I am saying that I find it incredibly irresponsible. Just because Jon and Kate Plus 8 gets their own tv show to fund their family doesn't mean you will, Ms. Anonymous Plus 14. I love my kids, but that doesn't mean I want to crank out 11 more. My friend Laura once told me the best advice when it comes to how many children to have. They stopped at two and she said, "After that get dogs." Just kidding.... that's my advice. She really said that she and her husband talked about having more, but then just decided that they should do the best they could with the two they've got. So, a little shout out to our single mommy of 14 living at home with her 'rents.... maybe you ought to do the best you can with the 14 you've got and leave the fertility treatments to those who need it!

The Hygiene Debate

Did you know that there is a whole world of people out there worried about whether or not you use a washcloth in the shower? Really.... nothing better to do, people??? I had no idea, and quite frankly had never given that a single thought in my entire life. But, my friend Lori (who doesn't really have anything better to do) apparently thinks about it quite a bit. Her husband, who I lovingly call Jeff the Wonder Fixer, is a manual laborer (her term, not mine). He is a house flipper. A successful one at that, so he is rehabbing houses right and left and coming home a pretty dirty fella. Lori's complaint (that she has not yet voiced to him... so if he is reading this... uh... sorry) is that with all that dirt and grime, he only uses a bar of soap and his hands. (That sounds like a different kind of dirty). After she mentioned it, I realized that Mark doesn't use a washcloth either. But, that doesn't bother me so much because he doesn't work up much of a sweat or get too down and dirty working as a computer nerd. I am more worried that his butt might fuse to his chair. No washcloth in the world will prevent that.


During our "to cloth or not to cloth" conversation, Lori told me that there is an entire Internet world devoted to debating this topic. Wah huh??? I googled (we all know my love of all things Google) "washcloth or not" and got 1,100,000 hits. Its everything from people accusing non-cloth users that they don't actually scrub the dirt off to people saying washcloths are germ farms. I personally use a puff, so I think I am the best of the options. Ha!


The really funny part of talking about this was that the fab four (me and my ladies) had totally interesting post-shower habits. If you knew what they looked like I would say picture all three blushing right now... but since you don't, just imagine their embarrassment would be similar to yours if I was going to put some personal stuff about you out here. Homa doesn't use a towel. She steps right out of the shower and into flip flops and a robe. She only uses a towel on her head. To take Homa and her habits one step further, her family will not wash towels with anything other than towels, and bathmats or floor towels must be kept to a separate wash. I, apparently being a nasty, nasty girl throw towels in the with the whites and because my bath mats are dark blue, they go in with the darks. No one wants to hang out with me anymore, huh? Laura, on the other hand, is a washcloth user. But, she gets a fresh one each day therefore circumventing the whole germ farm infestation in the shower (in fact, she used to use two per shower... one for body, one for face). She also gets a fresh towel each day. In fact, her direct quote is that it never occurred to her to use it more than once. Me (aka Dirty Girl) on the other hand, will use my towel a good 3 or 4 times prior to washing it... unless it gets dirty or touches the sink or floor. Once a towel hits solid anything (which excludes my body since I am more jiggly than solid) it is toast.



I had no idea the quirks that could be hidden behind that shower curtain. I had never thought about it, at least. But, now I am curious. If you have any bathroom quirks or strong feelings on the cloth or no cloth debate, let me know. Inquiring minds and all that...

Random Wednesday

I usually like to throw a Wednesday "what the..." out there, but this week I have no "what the" to throw. Apparently the world makes sense, at least for today. So, I thought I would steal something from the wonderful world of Facebook... a place that I love to hate.

A few people have sent me notes where they list 25 completely random things about themselves. I have been astounded at what I have learned. My cousin Heidi eats breakfast every day in the bathtub (I had no idea), Tara in Seattle gets the shakes from a trip to WalMart (I hear that) and my friend Amie thinks she is shy (ok, that one I knew). I decided today would be the day that I put mine out there. I am going to just type in the first 25 things I think of when thinking about myself. We'll see what comes up! I welcome you to put yours (or a couple at least) in the comments so we can all get a glimpse of people when they just let the thoughts fly.

1. I am a compulsive fidgeter. (Picture Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman with a tick and that is me).
2. I love my boys more than I would have ever thought possible.
3. I hate putting clean laundry away more than any other chore.
4. The smell of original scent Palmolive is one of my favorite smells. Bentley's feet is another.
5. I LOVE to be the center of attention, except when I am with my extended family and then I become quite shy.
6. I hate, hate, hate to travel.
7. I cannot spell guarantee or restaurant without the help of spellcheck. (I spelled both wrong when I typed this).
8. Diet Coke and chocolate milk are the only two things I drink regularly.
9. I have a strange addiction to waffle fries. Mmmmm.... waffle fries. (Sounds of stomach growling).
10. I still have nightmares about college math classes.
11. I secretly enjoy cooking, even though I complain about it and am not the next Top Chef (or runner up... or honorary mention... or cook whose food is tolerable).
12. I really hate my pink hair extensions.
13. I would live in a baggy t shirt and yoga pants if I could, but I never actually wear that outside of bedtime.
14. I don't believe in saving things for a special occasion, but I do ration good stuff so it lasts longer.
15. I read voraciously (thanks to Amie, who I have some books to give back to).
16. I love that Will is so active even though it drives me and most other inhabitants of his space crazy.
17. I have yet to start calling Yuki by her new name... although I do call her MissyBellaYuki most of the time.
18. Italian food is my favorite.
19. Sometimes I feel too embarrassed to smile at something I find funny... and I don't even know why.
20. I am not friends with anyone from my childhood or college anymore. What does that say about me?
21. I hate that longer fuller shirts are going to be out of style soon, and will be replaced with backless bandana shirts or tube tops. Yay for fat girl fashion being in style.
22. I still want a breast lift.
23. I eat dinner food for breakfast (like leftover chili) and I like it.
24. I fear and hate change.
25. I think I really might be the next American Idol, except I fear that I'd really be the next William Hung.

So... what's your randomness?

Jack? Are you still there?

"911... what is your emergency?"

Me: Well, my 5 month old hasn't woken up yet.

911: Is the baby in distress?

Me: I think he's sleeping. He never woke up during the night and its 8:30a.m. and he still hasn't woken up.

911: Is your baby breathing?

Me: I think so. I can see him on the video monitor.

911: Ma'am... if you can see your baby and your baby is breathing, I assume he is just asleep.

Me: But that means he slept through the night?

911: Yeah, it happens eventually.

Ok, so I didn't really call 911... but that conversation went through my head about 400 times this morning. Jack slept from 8:45pm to 8:30am. NO FEEDINGS! Picture angels singing hallelujah while the clouds part and golden sunshine pours down upon my sparkling home. The funny part is... Jack's sleep led to me not being able to sleep at all.

I woke up and Mark had already left for work. I assumed that Jack must have woken up in the night and Mark fed him. So, I wait for him to wake up for another meal. I check the video monitor... he's there on his back like always. I assume he is breathing, but I can't tell for sure. I call Mark and he says that no, he didn't feed Jack. Jack slept through the night. Tabbi starts getting ready for school, so I assume Jack will be up any second. No. No movement coming from his crib. For a minute, I am taken back to a blog entry I read once (Moosh In Indy... she's good. Go read her). The writer said that she would wonder if her daughter was ok in the crib sometimes, but if she went to check, she would wake her up. So, she would ponder what to do thinking that if she checked, she'd wake her, and if she didn't check something might be wrong. Then she thought that if there was something wrong, what was she going to do about it? I had that moment of...well, if something is wrong, its been wrong for awhile and there's no changing it, but if he is peacefully sleeping I am not going to risk that! So, I waited. I watched. I wanted to take advantage of this once in a lifetime (or 6 month) opportunity to sleep in, but I couldn't. I was busy waiting and watching. Watching and waiting. By 8:30ish, he was awake. Crisis averted.

This is not the first time that Mr. Jack forced me to contemplate his mortality. When I was about 10 or 12 weeks along, my doctor couldn't find his heartbeat. She kept trying and trying and all you could hear was the swoosh of her moving the doplar across my belly. Finally she found a beat, but no... that was mine. Swoosh. Swoosh. Finally... another beat. Nope... mine again. Swoosh. Swoosh. Nothing. My OB was very pragmatic. Its possible that the baby was behind the uterus and therefore the beat was too soft to be picked up. Or, its possible that there is no beat. So, let's schedule an ultrasound and check. At the ultrasound, my mom and I watched as they gooed me up and put the scanny part (technical term, I am sure) on my belly. A baby appeared. But, it was still as still can be. I looked at my mom and saw her tear up and I cannot even remember who spoke at that time, but one of us said that it wasn't moving. Its funny that I can usually remember details down to what people are wearing at the moment of a certain event or conversation, but this time... I can't even remember who said what. The ultrasound operator responded "that's a still picture." She turned on the live stream and the heart just fluttered away. He was behind the uterus just like the doctor said.

Later, around 26 weeks I was upstairs getting ready for a gorgeous and sunny Saturday. I was showering and went to get dressed, pulled on my pants and felt a gush. Gushes are never good. At first I thought I wet my pants. I never did that with my first pregnancy, but I knew others that did, so I assumed it was pee pee time. Diapers for everyone! Then I pulled down my drawers and it wasn't urine. It was fire engine red blood. I went numb for a minute and couldn't even comprehend what was happening. An intelligent person would have been dialing their doc before they pulled up their grunders (translation... underwear. Lynn speak...sorry). Instead, I called my mom. Luckily, she is much better than I am and she told me I needed to call the doc. Doctor OB Lady says "go to hospital asap. Do not pass go. Do not collect $200." (Ok, that is not an exact quote, but you get the message). So, off we go. After hours of waiting, tests, exams... it turns out that I had a tear in my placenta. Stupid innards... always causing problems. I was admitted for observation with the understanding that if I bled too much, the placenta separated completely and they would have to deliver my way too young, not developed enough baby. The likelihood of him surviving delivery at that stage of development was around 30%. Not good odds. In most cases the placenta fully separates. In some cases, the minor bleeding keeps happening so often that you are admitted to the hospital for bed rest for the duration of your pregnancy. In my case, it happened that day and never again. If Jack were a cat, he'd be down by two lives.

So, I sat in bed today and thought about those moments. The "I think my baby is dead or dying" moments of my pregnancy. I knew in my logical mind that he was just sleeping in his crib this morning, but I waited and I watched to make sure. All I could think is that we've made it this far... there is no way I'd lose him now. And by the grace of God (and next time my butt is sleeping in) that kid slept through the night. Its a miracle... and you know what... with all those issues... he kinda is.

A Cleaning Story

Once upon a time, in a land far far away called Hoosier Land, lived a woman with three children. One year, her 9 year old stepdaughter bought her a bath and body gift set for Christmas. The woman thought the gift was lovely, but didn't often use that type of product, so it sat lovingly on her dresser until she decided what to do with it. One day, she tore open the plastic and retrieved the bubble bath (the one product she was excited to receive). After that, the bath set remained on its perch on the dresser. One night, a toddler entered the room. The toddler spotted the bath set and took out each colorful bottle and squishy sponge and examined each item to decide what was the best toy to play with. "A ha!" thought the toddler. "This white powder with the furry poof is clearly the toy for me." Little toddler opened the powder and proceeded to pour the perfume powder on his head, toes and the bedroom carpet. The stench of flowers was toxic. Suddenly the woman (who was there the whole time) looked at the son and for a brief minute thought "what is all that white stuff" and then the smell hit her and she knew.

The woman threw the toddler at her husband, told him to bathe the toddler and she ran downstairs for the vacuum. She got on her hands and knees and sucked up every speck of that perfumed powder. She realized the smell was getting stronger, and so strong in fact that the room seemed to be cloudy with the scent. She wondered if the smell was making her dizzy or hallucinate because the air literally seemed to be filled with it. But as the dutiful mother and housewife that she is, she just kept vacuuming. Suddenly she heard her husband yell from the master bath and she walked to the door, squinting through the polluted haze to see him.

Mark: What vacuum are you using?

Me: The little Eureka... duh.

Mark: You mean the one I told you the other day had no bags?

Me: Uh... yeah.

Mark: Do you not see the cloud that you've created?

Me: Uh... I thought I was hallucinating.

Mark: Nope, just dumb... but I don't think you can blame the powder.

Me: Uh... right.

Let that be a lesson to you, boys and girls. Vacuuming powder through a bagless vacuum shoots the powder into the air and makes an ubreathable toxic cloud of hell flowers. What's even more important to note is that when it settles it makes your room appear that Courtney Love stopped by with her coke and a cold. Who knew???

And the winner is....

Thank you all so much for your great dog names. We liked a bunch of them, but finally a vote was taken (yay for democracy) and while Will was still going strong for Maxandruby, Mark and Tabbi had the majority with their votes for Yuki! Congratulations and appreciation to Momo-Mama and specifically to Momo for coming up with it. Please email me at bentleysgrrl@yahoo.com with your email address so I can forward the Amazon gift certificate to you!!!

Honorable mention goes to Whitey McFluffkins, Ice Cream Sundae and Bella as our other favs!!! But, no prizes... sorry.

Yay Yuki!!!!

Name that Dog Contest

Hello Dear Creative and Wonderful Readers...

I introduced you to our new dog on "Wednesday... What the..." but there is a new development. We as a family (or Mark and I) have decided that we hate the name Missy. She's a good dog and all, but that name is crap... unless your dog is named Missy and then its pretty good. But, it doesn't fit this arctic giant, so we want a new one. We have failed miserably as a family to come up with a name, so I am going to leave it in your capable hands. Keep in mind that Frosty, Snowball and Blizzard have all been vetoed already.

I am going to leave this post until Monday, and ask that you give us any name suggestions in the comments. The name that becomes my family's favorite will be the winner and will get a $15 (cuz I am poor, ok...) Amazon gift certificate. I will ask for your email when you are notified of winning and send you the gift certificate via email. In the event of a tie, we will post our two favorites on Monday and let the readers vote. For you readers who read but don't comment, I am asking you to step up for the good of my dog and click that comment button!

So, send me your suggestions, please! This is a major SOS moment as I cannot yell "come here, Missy" at an 80 pound snowbeast anymore!!!

Google Me!

I am addicted to Google. I have managed to find anything from symptoms of a female dog in heat to baby names to medical advice for my Mirena. Don't ask. I have always found that the Internet provides great answers to all of life's many questions. That is... until I realized how many people reach my blog through innocent Google searches. Here are a few of my favorites.

1. There are abundant landings on my site due to searches for information on lice. Interestingly, I have never actually blogged about lice, so my site is not terribly helpful in the area. I do consider myself to be an expert though as my stepdaughter had it for possibly several years when she lived with Mother of the Year, and we battled it for a good six weeks before it left our house for good (knock on wood). My favorite lice related search was for "lice training." Now, would that be akin to a flea circus or are we training the lice to do something beneficial for society like search and rescue lice or drug sniffing lice?

2. Just yesterday someone ended up in the Land of Lynn from searching Google for "what learned from inauguration." To me, this sounds like a paper some kid was assigned by his history teacher. I hope the kid wasn't too hopped up on Jolt Cola and Wii Rock Star to read what I wrote, because if they cut and pasted based on the title of the page it went to, "Important Lessons Learned on Inauguration Day," I feel the teacher is going to know they didn't write it. Unless they are in school with a couple kids at home... which I guess is possible. Sad.

3. This may be my favorite. "Frozen water in propane line." Here is some poor schmo whose gas line is all frozed up and they get to my blog about how I am too scared to hook up a propane heater. Bob Villa, I am not, but I hope my words of wisdom helped. I like to think of myself as a DIY folk hero now that I know my blog can be reached by so many helpless homeowners.

4. I never knew just how educational my blog could be for the masses. Because someone Googled "Chihuahua Pomeranian mix Georgia" and they reached my entry called "I MEANT THE KITCHEN OPENING." I sure hope that I was able to really educate them on the female dog anatomy and Pomchi pets. In fact, I think I may be in line for an honory vet degree or something. If nothing else, they learned not to ask my friend Homa unspecific questions.... a good lesson for us all!

5. And really, this one is the best. I am not sure whether or not I like that fact that someone Googled this or the fact that its from Dubai... but it is Google goodness. Some Dubai-ian person Googled "female milking machines stories" and ended up at "My kid hates me." I am not sure if they are milking humans in Dubai or female animals, but I am pretty sure my rant on how much Jack cries really pointed them in the right direction. I also hope that I never have to hear what direction that is, because it creeps me out just a wee little bit.

So, I guess the thing I gathered from these Google mishaps is beware of where the Internet takes you. Some of us may come here by choice, but God help those who just Google upon it. When some innocent victim does end up here, may they read, enjoy and return or if nothing else... may the content not send them to therapy. Amen.

Wednesday's WHAT THE...???

Its time for another installment of Wednesday's What the.... because the world is just so darn weird. Why not get it all out on one day.

Jeremy Piven. I know this happened awhile back, but seriously Jer? He was starring on Broadway but cancelled because he was taking in too much mercury and it was dangerous to his health. Makes perfect sense, right? IF THE PLAY WAS CAUSING IT! It came from too much sushi, they think, but suddenly he can't do the play because he is in New York and the sushi is in New York and apparently huge thugs with gats get him every day and force the sushi down his throat. Must flee to LA where sushi is not forced upon him. This could be the worst excuse I have ever heard to quit a job... and I used to be in HR so I have heard a lot of them.

Lisa Bonet. Oh, Lisa. I have always liked you. You were my favorite on The Cosby Show. I supported you despite the seriously too long dreads. I even followed you to A Different World. It took me awhile to forgive you for that, but I did. I worked past it. Then I watched you on High Fidelity and applauded your jump to the big screen. Now this. THIS! She named her poor defenseless child Nakoa-Wolf Manakauapo Namakaeha Momoa. I all for naming a kid something meaningful and promoting your background but I am not sure tongue twisters apply!

Lastly, I think Bentley's face best displays this "what the" moment. Can you see that look of "what the hell have you people done to me?" Its in his eyes. Complete hatred. And, that white swoosh to the side is why. That huge white fur tail is connected to a huge white fur person in the form of a 75 pound Great Pyrenees named Missy. We adopted Missy on Saturday and to put it mildly, Bentley is pissed. She is a sweet girl who was fostered at an in home daycare and lets the kids do anything they want. They can pet her, Will even fell on her and she didn't bat an eye. Tabbi stalks her constantly and she just deals. We are on a two week trial, so nothing is official, but its working out pretty well. Lesson learned to Mr. Bentley. Don't be a grouchy woof to the kids and a giant white polar bear of a dog won't step in and rain on your parade. Ok???

Will calls her the Polar Bear. He will come walking in the house and say "Where's Polar Bear?" Then he will see her and say "that's a reeree reeree big dog!" Yes it is, Will. And in honor of her size and the amount of hair this bear is going to shed, I say what the hell was I thinking??? These photos don't do her justice though. She is truly a gorgeous dog and they also don't do her size justice.
When Bentley stands straight and tall, the top of his head is in line with the seat of our kitchen chairs. When Missy stands straight and tall (which she seems to do best while we are eating a meal) her chin rests on our kitchen table. WHAT THE????

Important Lessons Learned on Inauguration Day

1. Just because the future President is walking out to be inaugurated doesn't mean a two year old won't spread Christmas ornaments all over the upstairs of your house.

2. Dogs are smarter than people, because when said two year old is running around the house screaming about how they just spread Christmas ornaments far and wide... the dogs hide.

3. Toddlers poop... whether or not Barack Obama is making a historical speech.

4. Wearing a ponytail for the first time makes you feel strangely perky, and therefore more interested in The Real Housewives of Orange County than the inauguration coverage. (Don't worry... only flipping during commercials as pink extensions counteract the danger of a perky ponytail).

5. While I am overwhelmed by the historical significance of the day... Mark still has the ability to make me gag over his opinion (see comments in case you can't understand this one). Glad to be alive??? BAAAAARRRRRFFFFF.

6. You can only get away with watching so much ABC before your toddler makes you switch it to Max and Ruby.

7. Even if you tell your toddler that the new President of the United States commanded that he be quiet while Jack is sleeping, the toddler will still scream in your face.

8. If you get distracted by the news coverage, your two year old will take that opportunity to spill his chocolate milk all over the homework table so that he can have a "mud puddle" for his trucks.

Today Is A Good Day

This is one of those days. One of those "I remember when" kinda moments. I am not of the Kennedy generation and I wasn't alive when man walked on the moon. I remember when the Challenger blew up. I was in first grade and all three classes squeezed into one room to watch the Challenger launch on TV. I remember that it blew up but we were so young, I am not sure we comprehended that it wasn't supposed to happen until I saw my teacher (whose name I don't remember, but face I won't forget) was crying. Only then did we have the understanding that something went wrong. I remember that I was listening to Good Morning America in my car when they announced that a plane hit the World Trade Center. Charlie Gibson was describing that they didn't know what happened when the second plane hit. I heard his reaction live on TV. I ran into my work and switched on the radio. I was transfixed for the day. A computer nerd (not the one I married) came into my office and laughed at the situation saying that there must be drunk pilots that morning. I don't fault him now, as no one could come close to understanding the full ramifications of what was happening. A terror attack like that was unimaginable at that time. There was no way to predict that the towers would fall killing so many innocent victims.

In my generation, there is nothing positive that has happened in that "I remember where I was when..." category. There are no victories, there are no great events like a moon walk. There is nothing that doesn't equal sadnessand tragedy... until today. I feel like this is that moment for us. I don't care what your politics are and you may be Sarah Palin's biggest fan. Today is not a day to worry about that. We can start on the armchair Presidenting tomorrow. Today is a day to celebrate the fact that an African American is being sworn in as President of the United States for the first time ever. The majority of United States citizens were able to put aside any sort of racial bias and say that Barack Obama is the best man for this job. They were able to ignore that the name was foreign... its not John, George or James.... we elected a man named Barack Hussein Obama not because of his lineage, bank account or the color of his skin... but because we as a people believed that this was the best man to lead our nation. That is an amazing thing, and every person in this country should sit back and take stock in what that means. We've come a long way, baby, and today, above all other days, I am proud to be an American.

Congratulations, Mr. President.

The Domestic Mafiosa

I am Italian on my Dad's side and while there is no mafia connection, I feel like I have the mentality. I am just a twin set away from being The Godfather, except I haven't seen that movie and am not too sure what being a Mafioso involves. But here's my point... I can hold a grudge against somebody for years. Not just years, FOREVER. You go against me, and you are dead to me. Sleeping with the fishes. Wearing cement shoes. Horse head in your bed, dead to me. See the mafia connection now?

Here's an example. When I worked at the division of the Dept. of Correction, my boss who I thought was a personal friend, ignored our friendship and accused me of something I didn't do. Mark worked there too, and he was transferred to a remote location and a new guy was brought in to do his job. Now I have this uncanny ability to separate work from personal life (another Mafia boss trait... must add to my resume when I apply to be the Godmother.) Girlfriend Lynn felt bad that Boyfriend Mark was now working in an actual prison (not a cushy office building) and that he had a longer commute to work. Employment & Benefits Supervisor Lynn said "good decision" for many reasons (which I will not get into because Husband Mark may not want to hear it and Wife Lynn doesn't feel like listening to Husband Mark's whining) and was totally open minded about the new dude. I did his New Employee Orientation and after was summoned to my boss's office where I got a butt chewing about how I made him so uncomfortable, how he felt like I put him on the hot seat as I grilled him about his qualifications, who hired him, etc. None of that happened. I made small talk and was polite, and my goal was to not let New Guy know that Replaced Guy was my boyfriend so as to not make life awkward. Apparently New Guy's Boss had already warned him about my evil boyfriend-defending ways and made our interaction totally awkward (not my fault) and New Guy went to my boss and made up a load of malarkey. I defended myself to the ground (which is another mafia trait... that's three now) and while we did move on from it, she never apologized for what she accused me of. Not even when he got terminated for rigging our company phone system to allow him to make international phone calls illegally or when she found out he lied about his debilitating (and often the cause of absences) impending divorce and when she found out he was lying about dating one of our co-workers. Signs pointed to him being a CHRONIC LIAR and I still haven't gotten an apology from her for immediately taking New Guy/Criminal/Chronic Liar Guy's side (totally ignoring the fact that she knew me and my reputation for 3 years prior to meeting him). Bitter, party of one!

So, I am sitting here this morning and I am angry about something that happened years ago. And that is not the only thing from the past that makes me mad. Don't even get me started on the 7th grade friends fiasco that I am still steamed about. If anything like that happens, I may interact with the person again, but I will keep it in the back of my mind until I die. I am a shrink's dream, what can I say. I reserve the right to throw the violation at someone if I feel they deserve it even years later. But more often than not, I never do because the situation isn't warranted. Even my example above. I never said anything to my boss after the day she accused me, even when we found out New Guy was such a loser. But, now its been years and I still have pent up irritation about it. So, I have come to the conclusion today that maybe the mafia people are right. Maybe if you leave a barnyard animal's head in someone's bed you get better closure than just sitting on it. Hmmm... now where can I find some horses???

Feminism is dead

My name is Lynn and I need a man. There, I said it. I am admitting to myself and the world that there are just some things I cannot (or more accurately... will not) do. I consider certain things men's work and while I feel women should be treated equally, paid equally and allowed to do equal things... I just don't want to participate in the last one. Is that wrong?

I feel adamant that a man should kill and remove any and all bugs/bug carcasses within the household and surrounding areas. I know that the spider the size of a Tic Tac can't hurt me. I know that it is no match for one of my size 11s coming down upon its body. But, I don't care. Its a man's job to kill that bug and it is my prerogative to get all "girly" and jump up and down and shriek like a tween at a Jonas Brothers concert. I realize that a woman can kill bugs and I applaud any woman that wants equal rights to do so... but I ain't that girl.

I feel that it is a man's job to take out the trash. I assume I took part in this ritual when I lived alone, but to be honest... it doesn't ring a bell. Perhaps I generated no trash until man entered my home. Either way, now that I live with a man, its his job. Trash is dirty, icky, heavy and requires distribution on curb at an insanely early hour of morn, and that just isn't my bag (no pun intended). I don't do dirty, I stay clear of icky (unless its housed within a diaper and then I am deeply entrenched in it on a regular basis) and the only heavy I feel obligated to partake in is Fat Jack. Don't even get me started on early. Anything early is man's work. ANYTHING.

Today, I encountered another item that will be housed in the "man's work" category. Propane heaters. That is man's work. We own a rental property (aka house that wouldn't sell so we rent it and flirt with letting it go foreclosure style if we can't unload it someday) and we have great renters. But, the power went out last night (thanks Mother Nature and your subzero temps... this bills for you!) and their water heater froze thusly they have no running water. The water company and Jeff the Wonder Fixer recommended using a propane heater to defrost the frozen water heater (it is just me or is that an oxymoron???). Mark is at work, and I don't need no stinkin' man for basic household fix its. So, Will and I go to Home Depot. (Technically, since Will was with me I did have the required amount of testosterone needed to enter that store). I rented my 40 million hundred BTU having heater and when Bryant the slightly amused by me Home Deport Tool Guru offered to carry the heater to my car I smirked at him. Pityingly, I said "Oh Bryant... I think I can manage." And with Will's hand in one of mine and the propane heater in the other, I walked out the door. I even sent a look of "Like I need a man's help" over my shoulder to make sure he saw that not only could I carry it, but I carried it with one hand. Lynn 1, Frozen Water Heater 0. I then went to the gas station to buy a propane tank. I walked in, I pretended to know what I was doing and confidently told Mr. Speedway Worker Man that I needed one propane tank... new, not an exchange. He rang me up ($50... propane must be exhaled by unicorns.... or imported from the war torn middle east.... either way that crap is pricey) and he gave me that "Ok lil' darlin'" drawl that is prevalent in Indiana though I have no idea why and said "Lemme get that fer ya'." No, Silly Hick Man... I can handle it. And again, I grabbed Will's hand and my full propane tank in the other hand and away I went. Score: Lynn 2, Frozen Water Heater 0. I then get to the rental house and realize that there is no plug. What? I hook the gas tank to the heater using a hose thingy? WHAT? There is no on/off switch? WHAT?? I need to read the directions on the propane heater thing and light some sort of pilot light without singeing the hair that I meticulously straightened this morning? WHAT??? There are steps and mechanical things and hook ups and gas and fire and quite honestly, my hair is just really flammable right now. I have the extensions and the dye and the pomade and hair spray and I am not going up like a Roman Candle just so my renters have water. Because, let's use our handy dandy logic right now... they can't hose me down when I become a human mushroom cloud. THERE'S NO WATER!!!!

So, needless to say the frozen water heater defeated me and that will from now on go on my list of man's work. Lynn 2 - Frozen Heater 1 million.

Sent to the principal's office

Yesterday Mark and I had a meeting with Tabbi's teacher, the school counselor and the Principal. Her behavior in class is not good, and what's worse is that she isn't even trying when it comes to the schoolwork. She took a standardized test and did phenomenal. But her actual schoolwork is crap. It doesn't add up, so the only answer is that she isn't trying. She is putting forth no effort whatsoever. So, Mark and I were summoned to a meeting to figure out how to get this girl working at the same level of her potential. To the Principal's office we went.

I was a nervous wreck. I don't think I ever went to the Principal's office at Herbert Hoover Elementary and I didn't want to start my visits now. I wanted them to think that we were not huge screw ups as parents. Neither of us know what we are doing, but I wanted to put forth the image of a competent parent. Trick them, if you will. I put thought into my outfit... did I want to look professional and intelligent or stay home mom caring and nurturing? Did I want to do my hair up and hide the pink, or let it down straight and look confident in my uniqueness? Did I want to go in guns blazing with my ideas or be patient, quiet and wait for them to lead me to the answers? I spent most of yesterday pondering what to do. I even gave Mark some last minute instructions. Don't be loud, don't be goofy, don't tell long stories that don't matter, sound smart... be quiet.... etc.

Dr. W, the Principal, threw out some great ideas and Mark and I did a superb job. I went with the "stay home mom, caring and nurturing" ensemble but paired it with pink hair down so that they could see that I was young and fun. We were calm, patient, let them lead the show interjecting only when necessary without accusing them of failing and hopefully convincing them that we weren't failures either. It went really well... we had them totally snowed into thinking that we were smart, caring and good parents. In the immortal words of Rick Moranis in Spaceballs "Ha! Fooled you!"

And then Mark spoke. Dr. W threw out there that Tabbi's focus issues might be a glycemic problem since it kicks in at about 1:45p every day. To that Mark said... "So we should have her eyes checked?" Really.

Wednesday What the?!?!?!

Today some weird things struck me... well... weird, so I thought I would do a post devoted to all things strange. There is no connection between the things, but they all made me stop and say... hmm.

#1. My socks from Hanes are fabulous. They are white cotton sweat socks and I wear them all the time. They fit perfectly and don't slide off my feet. I give them two big toes up. However, they come in a zip lock resealable bag. Why is that? When you take them out of the package, do some people put them back in and zip them shut for freshness? Hmmm.... And even more hmmm, noticing that they had an easy zip resealable opening, I tore a hole in the bottom of the bag. Why do I feel the need to ignore the easy open top and do things the hard way? Opening this package is a metaphor for my entire life. Hmmm.

#2. I saw a commercial for a March Madness car sale. Did I slip into a coma and wake up three months later or is it still January? Hmmm. Along those same lines... I watched a Beverly Hills, 90210 marathon on SoapNet Sunday (I know... sad, but true) and they deemed it their Valentine's Day marathon, complete with cartoon lipstick smooch marks everywhere. This was January 11th. Aren't we working just a little bit too far ahead??? Hmmm.

#3. What the hell are these things... I will tell you. Meishan piglets.And what I think is even more strange than these Meishan piglets in the Berlin Zoo, is that they have a striking resemblance to the inhabitants of the Washington DC zoo...

They have the same look of disgust and disdain for their audience. Hmmm.

#4. While we are on the subject of what the hell are these things... let's take a gander at this sucker. Ever wonder what a baby aardvark looks like? No wonder you don't hear of people having pet aardvarks! Hmmm.

#5. Lil' Kim. Really? That is all I have to say. Ok, no one gets off that easy. She is depicted in the biopic about the Notorious B.I.G. (a rapper that was killed in the East/West rap wars). Her quote is this: "The film studio and producers involved were more concerned about painting me as a 'character' to create a more interesting story line instead of a person with talent, self-respect and who was able to achieve her own career success through hard work." Self-respect? Really????

That definitely looks like a woman who is famous for her talent. Almost like the bikini chick on American Idol was put through last night for her voice. Riiiiiight!!! Hmmm.

#6. I couldn't decide if this was a joke or not, but I saw it on the Good Morning, Indiana news this morning. Apparently Helio Castroneves is being replaced as a driver on his Penkse team (due to that pesky federal trial) and is being replaced by a man named Will Power. Is this racing or professional wrestling, because with a name like that its hard to tell! Thinking about changing my son Will's name to No Will Power Clinton in honor of the ice cream I indulged in after a miserable day. Hmmm.

Adoption's not an option

My family and I have decided to add another dog to the insane asylum that is our home. We currently have five humans and one fur person (Bentley the Beagle). Apparently, that is not enough for us. I thought it was, but then we had the opportunity to take in a Golden Retriever whose owner's child became allergic, but it didn't work out. So, now of course, we have our hearts set on a new dog. Bentley's all fine and good, but he won't let Will pet him. KC used to be our go-to guy for kid/dog love, but he's in the dog park in the sky so we are out of luck. So, off to adopt a dog we go! But, there's a catch. I have come to the realization that I could adopt an Ethiopian child sooner than I can qualify for a dog from one of the many fine rescue dog organizations. And my answer to that is... what the hell???

Bentley Woofsa (his full name) came from a rescue group and to be honest (no offense to anyone whose opinions differ from mine... you're just wrong) I only support getting dogs from the Humane Societies or rescue groups. I don't believe in getting dogs from breeders. There are just too many lovely dogs out there in need of a home to promote breeders who just keep increasing the pet population and often use reckless inbreeding that increases breed deformities and medical issues. Plus, even if you're a purebred dog snob, there is a rescue for every breed (even those designer breeds that aren't recognized like my desired labradoodle). So, in order to find my family's perfect new addition, I've been surfing the net. I am obsessed with the website petfinder.com. That is where I found dear old Bentley and I love it. But, yesterday I applied for a dog and I have been REJECTED! I'm sorry, is this a dog application or did I ask someone to the Sweetheart's Sadie Hawkins formal? I haven't been rejected for anything (except maybe a credit card) since high school.

The pet people at the rescue said that they were not comfortable giving the dog to a home with small children since Swiffer (how cute is that!!!) hadn't been exposed to small children yet. I can kinda get that, except their whole website promoted the breed as "perfect pets for children and families." So, uh... false advertising or what? No Clio in your future, Mr. Rescue Guy! My friend Laura the Famous also was rejected at least once from a rescue group, their reason being that she lived on a farm and the dog might be eaten by coyotes. Again... I can kinda get there... especially if there was a coyote problem on Laura's farm...but there isn't. These were inside dogs and Laura doesn't raise coyotes on her farm and not a single chicken has been snared by these vicious coyotes... so are they only dog eaters or are we being just a hair too picky??? The potential that a coyote (which aren't really around and have never caused a problem before) might come on to the property at the same time the dog happens to be outside on a leash with Laura or her husband and the humans might get so distracted by the sunset or a bird or something shiny that they will see approaching coyotes but simply ignore it until said coyotes steal the small dog away was too great to warrant giving them a dog. Huh wha???

I find it interesting that any idiot can get knocked up and have 500 kids whether or not they deserve them, and I could go to a breeder and buy 60 labradoodles and not have to prove that I even have a home. We could just load them into my Hyundai and eat them for dinner and no one would know. But, these rescue groups are so picky I had to draw up a last will and testament to verify who gets my doodle if I die. Uh, I dunno... the four other people that live in my house? I had Jack and no one asked for financial proof that I could afford him. I didn't need to provide references that could speak to my past experience as a human raiser and I didn't have to document where he will stay if I croak or go on a vacay. But, if I want a 3 year old labradoodle that was abandoned by some yayhoo who thought a dog was a possession and not a member of their family... that I cannot do. Unfortunately I fear that these picky rescue groups, (while they have the dogs' best interest at heart) are going to drive people to breeders because they can't qualify to be a rescuer. Maybe instead we should put these groups in charge of human population control and maybe then the 10 month old girl who was beaten to a pulp by her mom's boyfriend wouldn't have to be in that situation. Mommy Crackhead would not have been approved for pregnancy. Then we would have less children suffering and more dogs living the good life with me. I am emailing my plan to Obama as we speak, but then again, I bet he doesn't get turned down by the doodle rescue, so the brilliance might be lost on him!

My kid hates me

I am not sure what the deal is, but I think Jack hates me. Wait, I know he hates me. Ok, not just me. I think Jack hates me, my parents and my grandmother. I think he hates everyone on this planet except for Mark. That may be a little harsh, because he hasn't met everyone on the planet and there could be some nice old lady in Tibet that he would really bond with so I can't go that far. But really, he doesn't like the majority of his immediate family.

I am not sure what we did to make him hate us so much, but he does. How can I tell? Well, he cries. I mean he really cries. A lot. Cries. A lot. Cries... ALL THE TIME. Cries. Jack. Cries. To sum it all up, basically Jack is a crier. Cry Criers Cryington is his new name. I am going to change it legally to that. Then at least he will have a reason to hate me so much.

Saturday night Mark and I went to a movie and then we were going to go to dinner. I called my parents after the movie to check in and my mom put it mildly and said "Jack's been a psycho." She is not one to dis her grandkids, so that shows what kind of evening she had. It goes without saying (well, I guess not since I am saying it) that we skipped dinner. We came home and he was fine. Why? Because Mark was here. He truly is only happy with his Dad, which I personally don't get. What did his Dad do for him? Yes he feeds him and changes the occasional diaper, but so far (let's just be honest) I've done all the heavy lifting. I carried him in my womb for 9 excruciating months. I had the torn ligament that sent red hot pain through my body with every step. I puked. I couldn't sleep. I had the back aches. Me. I had the c-section and the itchies that follow and if you don't ever experience that in your life, you are a lucky person. Its basically psychological torture... this insanely bad itch covering your whole body that you can't satisfy. My nipples turned into giant blistery blood clots while I tried to nurse and then I was the one hooked up to the milking machines like a dairy cow. I stay home with you, Jack. I feed and clothe you way more often than your Dad. I am the one keeping you in your sumo wrestler pudge, not him. If it were just him, you'd eat dinner, a midnight snack and maybe a breakfast if it got in before he had to get ready for work. I DO THE REST, JACKERS! So really, Jack, what has he done for you lately???

I would write more (believe me, I have more to say), but guess what... Jack's crying. CRYING!

Two Thumbs Up

I am not a big movie buff, and I can't wax intelligent about historical significance in films, symbolism behind the scenery, or 99% of the performances nominated for a Golden Globe. I like watching a good movie, and that is about as "Gene Siskel" as I get. But, when I do see one that I like, I spread the word. So, Clint Eastwood, this blog's for you!Mark and I went to Gran Torino tonight. I wasn't totally sure what it was about, and thought it was something similar to Man on Fire from the previews. It looked like an ex-military dude was avenging his neighborhood and ridding it of crime. Let me tell you, that is it in part... but it is so much more. Walt, the main character, is played by Clint Eastwood and I have to say it was about the best performance I have ever seen. He was so angry, wounded, hateful and loving and tender and sympathetic. It was this weird mixture of someone you despise and yet love.

Now in all honestly, I am not going to sit here and say that it wasn't a bit predictable. There are no crazy twists and turns (although the ending is a bit surprising). Its not about wacky subplots or some M. Night Shyamalan "betcha can't guess where I'm going with this one" mystery. Its plot, for me at least, was about life. I don't need the weird wrap up that surprises us all at the end. There is no Sixth Sense "oh wait he was dead all along" business. Its a man and a life and where that life takes him. And the series of events is just... wow. That's all I can say and that's why I am no Gene Siskel (that and because he's dead now). The movie is the perfect mix of humor, wit, heartwarming message and violence. Its a hard combo to do and not make it silly or stupid and Clint acted it, directed it, produced it and even sings the closing song to make it (in a word) fan-FREAKING-tastic.

I really think this is one of the best films I have seen in a long time and I highly recommend it. Seriously, quit reading right now and go see it. I am not even going to say anything else because I expect you all to be shutting down your puters and heading out the door as we speak (or as I type). Its that good.

Big Girls Don't Cry

I don't cry at movies. I don't weep at commercials for long distance service or Hallmark cards and I don't tear up at the Kodak one of the kids taking pictures for their Grandpa's birthday. I don't get emotional at forwarded email stories of angels protecting us mortals and I don't believe in a good cry. Its just not my thing. But, there has always been one exception. Animals dying. I cried 14 minutes into Homeward Bound: The Incredible Journey... even though I knew that all three animals lived in the original. I sobbed at the end of Turner and Hooch and have banned it from my movie viewing catalog. Don't even think about inviting me to Marley and Me (I won't even consider reading the book), because I know better and don't get me started on Benji the Hunted. I will cry at the thought. Interestingly though, last night, I witnessed a transformation in myself. I cried. At a TV show. And animals were not involved. WHAT??? The good news is that I started my period today, and while that might be TMI for my readers, it at least gives me hope that I am not turning into a tissue carrying, make up smeared.... sensitive person. GAH!

The show last night was Private Practice, and a little boy died. I know its not real, and in the past I never cared when a human died because they just showed up in another movie and it never seemed real to me. Macaulay Culkin can bite it in My Girl, because he'll just live again to die again in The Good Son so who cares? But, I think having my own kids has "real-ized" kid death for me and I can't do it anymore. That kinda sounds like I enjoyed kids dying in the past, which is not the case. But, it just never really bothered me. Last night, it bothered me. Mark was sleeping and I had tears streaming down my face trying to cry quietly so that he wouldn't wake up confused as to why I had lost my freaking mind. The mother on the show (who deserves an Emmy for her grief scene) cradled her dead son's body as she cried this gut wrenching cry that I can only imagine is half a painful as that sound would be if it were real.

It made me think about all the parents out there who lost their children. I cannot imagine what that would feel like. I truly think that I would die. I don't really get into celebrity gossip, but I feel so bad for John Travolta and Kelly Preston because I cannot imagine that piece of you being ripped away never to be seen again. That has to be the worst thing a human being can experience. Both of my parents lost siblings when I was not yet born, and both sets of my grandparents still mourn 30 years later. My grandmother on my dad's side spent Christmas in Massachusetts just so she could be graveside on the anniversary of her son's death. And, my grandpa on my mom's side shed tears every time he talked about his departed son til the day my grandpa died. It makes you want to not have kids because the idea of something happening to them is too much to take.

So, I guess I am a wussy now because I don't see an actor on that hospital bed dying of measles... I see Will. And don't get me started if its a baby because it will so be Jack in my eyes. And even now as Will cries at me because he woke up way too early today and he sits on my lap and I realize his diaper is leaking and he left a wet spot on my leg, I don't know how I could ever live without him. And, I pray to God I never have to.

A Little Dose of Reality

Ok, I have confessed this before, but a reminder for those of you newbies or forgetful folks out there... I have this unbelievably bad addiction to reality TV. I am thinking about approaching Dr. Drew to do a show, instead of Celebrity Rehab, it will be Average People Addicted to Celebrity Rehab. We will all sit around and talk about how our parents didn't kick us out at age 8 and we were never forced into prostitution to score a hit for our moms... so we watch it on TV to marvel at what life could be like if raised somewhere other than Bettendorf, Iowa (or so I've heard). I think it will really take off. I watch just about all of the really really BAD reality shows as long as they promise to be completely ridiculous. I've heard about Survivor and The Amazing Race... but I don't get into those. Who couldn't be dropped somewhere on Earth and find their way back to a certain destination using clues and doing stunts? Where's the challenge in that? I am talking about locking seven insane women with daddy issues and diva complexes in a house and making them live together, like The Bad Girls Club. Now that's entertainment. So, today's entry is devoted to the shows I am devoted to. We'll call it my reality TV wrap up! And, Amie... if you're reading and not caught up... quit reading now or spoil things forever.

First... this gem of a program started on Monday, and I L-O-V-E it! The Bachelor! When it first came out, I was the quintessential appalled feminist, but now... screw feminism... let the claws come out! This season's bachelor is Jason who DeAnna (spelled De-Anna but pronounced De-Ahnna because in Georgia you can't possibly have a twang like De-Anna... right???) dumped for Jessie, the rogue snow boarder who she later dumped because let's be serious... we all want to date the kooky snowboarder, but no one wants to marry him (sorry, Jessie... true story). For the record, I am pretty sure that I am in love with Jason (sorry, Mark... true story) so I am very picky about what lady he ends up with. And, let me just say... ABC set him up with slim pickings!!! Right now I find them all horribly annoying, particularly Shannon the dental hygienist who started the show off by listing off how she knows EACH and EVERY minute fact about Jason's life from his siblings to what he had for breakfast, but she's not a stalker... giggle giggle, as she is gluing their faces on Barbies and acting out their future life together. (Ok, I made that part up, but you can totally picture her doing it if you watch the show). I will, however, give Another Bad Creation props for instilling evil cat fights right off the bat this season. Why wait a couple episodes when you can get to the good stuff immediately? They decided to let the women vote off one of their own. So, the fur flew. But then, those tricksters turned around and gave the woman they voted for (the only one I kinda like because she looks like my cousin's wife Theresa and acted semi normal) a rose instead. HA! Take that, female dogs!

Next, the wonderful world of real... otherwise known as MTV's The Real World. Season 10,004 started last night and let's just say it... FABULOUS! This time instead of the token gay (who is present, but not nearly interesting enough), they one upped themselves with a transgender was-man now woman. LOVE IT! And, while I am sure Katelynn (if you get to pick your own chick name wouldn't you... I dunno... spell it right???) is a lovely person, and I am totally open to picking whatever gender you feel right as... but come on. Katelynn looks as girly as Patrick Swayze did in To Wong Foo. Its a dude in girl's clothing, so let's not pretend like you can't tell, Ms. I'm Not Ready to Come Out Yet. There's no coming out when you can see it a mile away. Mystery woman is third from the left. Were you right when you guessed which one? If not, its just a bad picture. Believe me... you can tell.

And if the true story of seven people picked to live in a house wasn't good enough, let's change it to seven psychotic girls who live to get wasted, fight and dress from stores like Sluts R Us and Hoochie-Mart. I think they even suspended the whole "you're not allowed to hit people" rule that MTV has, because there has been some hair pulling and water thrown, and The Real World would send you packing with that behavior. This group was kicked out of every bar they went to for fighting with or yelling at other customers. Its classy with a capital C (in a really trashy trailor park)! And I just have to go on record, that in the immortal words of Michael Bolton, "love is a wonderful thing" but when you are 21 like Ailea and you are hooking up with a man in his 50s... that is just icky. Homa describing her dog's hoo hoo icky.

Lastly, on my reality TV list is Top Chef. I hate to put this in the same category as The Bad Girls' Club or even The Bachelor, because the people on this show have actual skill and talent and they seem to be normal human beings. But, I had to insert it because I follow it with the same fervor as the other trash TV, and it might serve to redeem me and my taste just a little bit in your eyes. Last night's episode was fan-freaking-tastic because the Top Chef producers found the cattiest, snottiest, wittiest Brit food critic to replace their usual judge Gail Simmons who is getting hitched and honeymooning for the rest of the season. This man is the epitome of British snark, and therefore I am in love. LOVE! (Sorry Mark and Jason the Bachelor... true story). He is like a bald Elton John in normal glasses and his comment of "I've found the weapons of mass destruction at the bottom of this bowl" could be the funniest thing I have ever heard. Especially when George Bush called him after the episode aired and asked where he would find that bowl. (Ok, I made that part up, too.)

So, now you are up on what consumes my nights and makes me dredge through my days as a zombie. I can't watch a thing in real time thanks to Will and Jack, so when they go to sleep, I go to heaven in the form of Tivoed trash television. Ahh, the wonders of modern technology mixed with some sicko TV reps' creativity. Its like combining peanutbutter and jelly or bleu cheese and buffalo wings... the work of a mad genius!

I MEANT THE KITCHEN OPENING!!!

My friend Homa is a first time dog owner. Actually she is a first time dog Aunt, I guess. Her sister has just taken in a stray Pomchi or Chihuahua/Pomeranian mix. Its a teeny little puffball dog, and I have seen pictures of and is as cute as can be. But, Zain and Homa are too funny because they've never really done the whole dog thing before. They are dog virgins, if you will. I am a long time dog lover (which sounds gross after referring to them as virgins) and owner, so I get a lot of the question calls. The Dog Whisperer, I am not, but I can hold my own with most questions. That is, until Monday's question came along.

Homa calls me and asks how you know when a female dog is in heat. Well, I think there is one pretty clear symptom, but I've never had a female dog, and I "fix" my animals pretty young (thanks to Bob Barker and his "help control the pet population" advice). The one female cat I had did not go into heat, because we spayed that swamp cat at birth, basically. So what did I turn to? I googled (Hello, my name is Lynn and I am a Google addict). What did people do when there was no Internet? That's what I want to know. I'd never be able to find out about dogs in heat, self diagnose my medical problems, shop... post this blog? I would spend my days churning my own butter I guess. Or, perhaps I would start checking off a few things on my to-do list that just never gets to-done. But, anyway. Back to the dog in heat. I google, get the goods and call Homa back with the 411. She then passes the info on to her sister. Then, she calls back.

Homa tells me that per her sister, the dog has started oozing. Eww, right? We females all do it, but for some reason when discussing a dog, I lose all sympathy and get a little icked out. The point of the call, though, was not a gross factor but that they need to gate her into the kitchen. "How do we do that?" Homa asks. I think for a minute and say, "How big is the opening?" Homa thinks for a minute and whatever came out of her mouth is still a blur to me. I think my mind immediately shut off, and a split personality developed in me to protect my real self from hearing such destructive information. I was going to name my new one Sasha Fierce, but Beyonce already took that name, is instead it was Myrtle. So, Myrtle listened as she begins to explain the oozing and the size of the opening its coming from and all the Lynn personality hears is "YUCK YUCK YUCK YUCK" until I can focus enough to yell over her dog anatomy describing voice "I MEANT THE KITCHEN OPENING!!!"

Pass the Prozac, Please

It has come to my attention that I may be a prime candidate for Prozac. No, its not the Prozac makers that told me that, either. Its my friends. Do we think that may be a sign of something?

Here's the truth... I am stressed out. I have never been a person easily stressed before. In school or my past career, I never really got stressed. I just work the problem. The busier I am, the better I function. But, that was then. Now I feel like I spin my wheels and get nowhere. I feel out of control in my own life, and... this will be a shocker to those people who know me... but I am a bit of a control freak. Ok. Fine. My name is Lynn and I am a control addict. But, I find myself in a world that I can't control and I don't deal well (or so I've been told).

I dwell on the fact that I can't fix Tabbi. I dream about it. It haunts me... literally. And yet I still can't fix it. Even today, after my post about her safety and security... today, I would gladly send her back to her mother. I would. She was a nightmare last night and again this morning, throwing tantrums and acting out like a toddler from hell. She'll be 10 next month. She has behavior issues that I had no idea about and quite honestly I have hit a point where I don't feel like I have the ability or the desire to do whatever work (or more importantly the work that will take a long time) to fix her. I want my life back. A life where we didn't scream every night. I want to raise my boys in a house where we have this constant weight on our shoulders. We're either in a blow up or tensely waiting for the next one to happen and I don't want to live like that anymore. I don't get it and I can't deal with it. When the clock strikes 4, I feel my whole body stiffen because I know she is coming home and my pleasant day is over. And when it happens and she walks through the door with her two failed math tests and spends 3 hours on math homework that should take 20 minutes, and she doesn't do her other homework and she doesn't do her chore for the night and she throws a massive tantrum, I just can't deal. I cannot comprehend why I can tell her what to do and she won't listen. And I don't know how to fix it.

Likewise, I struggle with Jack. I get frustrated with an infant. No, my friends from CPS, not frustrated like I am going to shake him or anything. But, I want his crabby phase (which started right around birth) to be over. I want him to sleep through the night and/or be pleasant in the day and I can't make either one happen. I am not even looking for both. I know easy babies are hard to come by, so I don't need easy. I need easier. I need one or the other, night or day to be a little bit easier when trying to raise the Tasmanian Devil and the real Devil at the same time.

Don't get me wrong, I don't think I am depressed (although after re-reading my post I might be). I am glad to be a stay home mom and some things make it totally worth it. Yesterday Jack was sitting up and Will was showing him how to climb on the treadmill (it may not be the exercise it was intended for, but its still exercise). Will was so excited to have his little brother watching him go "reeree reeree high" and Jack smiled every time Will said his name. Its so fun to watch this sibling relationship starting. The proud show off big brother teaching the adoring little brother. That makes the other 8 hours of Jack crabbing at me worth it. But, as I said before, I feel like I dwell on the negative much more than I appreciate the positive. I cannot let Tabbi and her behavior go while she is at school. I cannot bounce Jack and listen to the crabbing without that moment in my head of "WHAT CAN I DO FOR YOU!!!!"

So, per my friends and Prozac experts themselves, maybe it would help. It sounds like it just takes an edge off. Stops the dwelling and allows for a little more comfort with the "out of control" feelings. Mark is not a fan of drugs, so his opinion was a big no, with the obligatory caveat of "but I will support you if you decide to take them." But, I don't know. How do you know you need this stuff? Am I looking for that quick fix that will just make life easier? I don't think so, because if I were, crack would do a better job and I am not considering taking that yet. But, per my friends, maybe life in my house would be a little less high strung if I were a little less high strung. Thoughts, anyone?

Resolutions Update

I thought I would do a quick post to let you know how I am doing on my resolutions three days in to the New Year. I am doing a pretty rock star job, if I do say so myself.

Resolution 1: Be a nicer person. Well, on New Year's Day I came down with the stomach flu (Thank you, Will) and was basically puking or comatose until this morning so... CHECK! Its hard to be mean when in a coma.

Resolution 2: Lose weight. CHECK! I think I puked up everything I've eaten since 1998, so I am pretty sure I got that one covered. Not to mention, there are Dunkin Donuts in my house right now and I had two halves (equals one donut, I know, but to be accurate I ate half of one kind and half of another). Normally I would have four to six halves (PIG!!!!). But no... I am well on my way to size 4 jeans. Or... 14. Whatever.

Resolution 3: Be a better mother. Well, I am iffy on this one. I feel like I did it because I pretty much checked out for a day and therefore couldn't have screwed up too badly. But, on the other hand I feel like a good mother has to actually be around her children. So, I will call it a tie.

So, thanks to Mr. Flu Bug, 2009 is off to a pretty good start, resolutionarily speaking!